I'm working on a post right now of the BT leaders discussing the bonding issue and Jarron's orders.  It's a closed RP, so I can move it along as quick as I can.

After that, we kill the M'Hael, and then we go to the WT.

If I get to writing and my muse doesn't go on strike, we can be knocking at the WT gates in a little over a week.  I'd count on maybe 2, just as a buffer.  I still need to work out details with the WT leaders about the actual meeting.

So ... soon.  Be patient.  Go set something on fire and we'll probably ready by the time you get back.

The silence in the room lasted only until the momentary confusion had passed.  Once everyone realized that the M'Hael wasn't about to be killed, the council room exploded into sound.

"Peace with the Tower?! Are you mad?!"

"How can you be serious?"

"Peace?  The Aes Sedai would sooner gentle the lot of us!"

Once his own heart started beating again, and his anger with it, Brent added his own voice to the roar.  "Even if we do be attempting such a foolish thing, how do you be proposing that we do this.  I do no believe we can simply walk into Tar Valon and be requesting an audience with the Amyrlin.  You do be mad if you think we be doing this."

Jarron's face contorted in rage, and he channeled.  Quicker than anyone could follow, a weave of earth and fire swept out around Callandor which flared like the sun, and he brought it crashing down on the massive stone table.  The centerpiece of the council room shattered into dust and tiny rock chips with an earsplitting crack.  "I did not make a suggestion Brent.  I gave you an order.  You WILL find a way to make peace with the White Tower.  If you have to crawl to Tar Valon and beg the Amyrlin on hand and knee, we will have a truce.  I am trying to unite the world against the shadow.  Tarmon Gai'don is coming.  The first blows may have been struck in Shienar.  And I will not tolerate another failure like that."

An uneasy silence settled on the room as everyone stared at the remnants of the table.  Not a perfect silence this time.  Everywhere, men were muttering under their breathes, trying to convince themselves that they had heard wrong, or working out the possible consequences of such an action.  Others looked to be on the verge of tears.

Brent's face was turning a more livid shade of purple with every passing moment.  "If this peace be so important to you, then why do you be leaving it in my hands?  Why do you no go to Tar Valon yourself?"

"Thousands died, Asha'man included, to keep me from being carried to the White Tower.  I need to be free to prepare the world for what is coming, not locked in a cell beneath the Tower to dance on Aes Sedai strings.  You're more likely to succeed because you're less important to them."  Jarron paused to look around the room.  He saw doubt in the eyes of almost everyone present.  Honestly, he couldn't blame them.  He didn't like this any more than they, but it needed to be done.  "These are my orders, guardians.  Will you see it done?"

It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Jarron or Brent, when every man present saluted with fist to heart, pulled by a ta'veren's will.  Some looked surprised at themselves, plainly wondering why they were agreeing to a plan they didn't like.  Jarron's lip twitched as he hid a smile.  About time it worked for me.

"It is settled then.  You have a week Brent.  If I do not hear of an agreement with the White Tower before then, I will be most upset."  He stirred the pile of dust and stone fragments with the tip of Callandor.  "I don't think you'll want me to be upset the next time I come here.  One week Brent.

"I am returning to Tear.  You will notify me when this is done."  Flows of spirit reached out into the familiar form of a gateway, forming a black hole in the air.  Without a word or a backwards glance, the Dragon Reborn stepped through his portal and let it wink out behind him.

Leaning back in his throne, Brent closed his eyes took a few deep, steadying breaths.  They didn't help much.  When his eyes opened they settled on the small group behind Arath and Covai.  "Get out.  And do no be speaking of what you be hearing here."

OOC: Okay guys, this one is pretty much wrapped up.  You can post your final reactions before being chased from the room.  And I'll be starting up the next one soon.

Next part is up.  I want this to move along at a pretty quick pace.  I'll give you the weekend to catch up, and post your reaction to the last post, then I'll post again on Monday.  The ladies at the WT are getting impatient for us to start the bonding, so this needs to move along quickly.

Silent and tense.  That was the best way to describe the council room when Jarron stepped inside.  The M'Hael was seated at what was not quite a throne behind a huge stone table, waiting with a open sneer on his face.  The way Brent's gaze flickered back and forth between himself and the two officers who accompanied him, Jarron was unsure who the venom was for.  Either way, it was unacceptable.  Seated to either side were a handful of other men, the lightning bolts embroidered on their sleeves marking them as Storm Leaders.  A scattering of other with flames had to be the Attack Leaders.  A few late comers filtered in behind them and stood around the edges of the room.  Good, he thought.  They all need to hear this.

"I've heard about your ... efforts ... in Shienar, Brent.  I must say, it's a little disappointing."

The Illianer's face turned an interesting shade of red as he fought to control himself.  "My Lord, the failure in Shienar do be the fault of the two men beside yo-"

"The failure lies wholly to blame with the man who ordered the attack!" Jarron roared.  "I do not recall giving the Asha'man the order to mobilize."

"I do no recall ever recieving orders from the Lord Dragon, for anything," Brent said, his voice low and dangerous.  "It do appear that you had abandoned us.  I did what needed to be done."

It was Jarron's turn to sneer.  "Yes, leading a hundred of the Asha'man to their deaths, while failing to protect a country that has now fallen to the Shadow.  Masterfully done.  A testament to Guardians."

Brent rose from his throne, shouting.  "You do no understand-"

"No!  You seem to have forgotten!"  Jarron siezed the source, pulling Callandor from his back.  There was a collective intake of breath, and everyone in the room seemed to shrink back.  Jarron's power amplified voice almost shook the room.  "The Black Tower is MINE to command!  The Asha'man swore fealty to ME, in the Heart of the Stone!  You go as I command, when I command it!"  As always, he had to mute down the voice in the back of his mind, which urged him to draw deep from Callandor and slaughter every last Asha'man.  He needed them.  "You are my weapons.  My tools to do my bidding.  Though it seems your effectiveness is less than I could have hoped for."

He paused for a moment, steeling himself for what was about to come.  The thought of it churned his stomach, especially after all that had happened to him personally, but it had to be done.  Releasing the voice amplifying weaves, he continued calmly.  "I have no use for the Asha'man if they are unable to fight the dreadlords for me.  Attack Leader Arath tells me that you aren't even sure if you killed any of them.  Is this true?" he asked, turning to Arath.  Tight lipped, the Attack Leader nodded.  "I'm also told that the dreadlord formed circles, which were responsible for the defeat."

"That do be what they told me," said Brent, the sneer returning to his face.

"Then it would appear that I have little choice."  He brought Callandor up and leveled it at Brent.  A surge of Saidin made the blade glow like the sun, and Brent's face paled.  "You will make peace with the White Tower."

Jarron al'Tanin

The Dragon Reborn

OOC: Unless you're part of the group arriving from Tear, this meeting is only open to Attack/Storm Leaders.  Lets here some uproar.

This is just a notice that the big BT thread is back underway again, after a long delay.  Any of you with Asha'man characters that may need dusting off, now is the time.  Once this RP and one other are finished, we're ready to start the fun interdiv stuff with the WT.

So if you're out of the habit of checking the Farm, get back over there.

We have cookies ...

Kelitor, you might want to just edit that a bit and assume you've been at the farm for a few days.  Arath's been in Tear all day, and not able to process newbies.

Time is very flexible stuff in the PSW. :D

Arath couldn't help but laugh.  Of all the questions he could have asked ... "That's kind of up to you.  You will be having lessons in the sword, but some of the Asha'man tend to ignore it.  Prowess with a blade seems less important when you can call lightning or throw fireballs.  But yes, if you wish to learn, you will."  Tossing a suitable looking coat to Kelitor, Arath siezed Saidin and channeled the simple weave of fire that made a fiery blade appear in his hand.  "Even with this you're more likely to hurt yourself than anyone else, unless you've learned what to do with it."

Letting the blade vanish, the Attack Leader returned to his desk and sat down on it.  "You'll get another coat soon, so take care of that one in the mean time.  You'll be free until your first class this afternoon.  I recommend getting something to eat at the inn, and acquainting yourself with the grounds.  You'll be housed in one of the soldier barracks to the north at first.  Five big long buildings all right next to eachother.  You can't miss them.  Ask anyone there and they'll be able to show you where to go."

Arath thought for a moment, and not coming up with anything else to add, motioned toward the door.  "Unless you have any other questions, you're free to go."

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,42989.0.html

That's right ladies, we're finally kicking this thing off again with the Dragon Reborn visiting the farm to lay the smack down on us.  Very limited activity is allowed, mostly watching with appropriate oooo's and aaaah's.  Your chance to lay eye's on the boss.

Get to postin'

*cracks whip*

The silence stretched out between the men in the utter blackness of ... wherever this place was.  Outside the pattern he supposed.  If not for the power raging through him, Jarron al'Tanin would have thought he was alone.  Only the soft sounds of breathing, of a man shifting his stance, told him that we was not.  In the near silence, the Dragon Reborn's thoughts churned noisily in his head.

He could have simply travelled.  It would have been faster, but he wanted the time to think.  Rushing into things was a good way to die.  He had accepted the alliegence of the Asha'man, but now wondered just how far that alliegence stretched.  He may have cowed the group that had sought him out, but he also saw just how quick they had been to defend Covai from him.  To a man they had seized Saidin, even knowing what might happen to them.  He may have been able to take all of them, in fact he was sure of it.  But how many were at the Black Tower now?  Arath had mentioned some 400 at the battle in Shienar.  Perhaps three times that many?  A thousand mad men he had set loose upon the world, all ready to turn on him should he do the wrong thing.

In spite of that, it wasn't fear that had prompted him to bring Callandor.  No, it was the need to reassert himself as the leader of his pack of dogs.  It struck him now how badly he had handled things with the Asha'man.  Or rather, how he had not handled things at all.  After Dalinar had been killed he had never once visited the place, had hardly given it a second thought.

His thoughts were interupted as he felt the platform beneath him come to a halt.  Flows of spirit reached out and opened the gateway that led them out of the darkness, and onto the grounds of the Farm.  Covai and Arath led their group through first, an honor guard for their leader.  Letting the gateway collapse behind him, Jarron followed them into the large structure that loomed before him.  A miniature palace?  Brent was getting carried away with himself.  No, by the end of the day they would all know.  HE was the Dragon Reborn.  HE was the Lord of the Morning.  They would learn who they served, or they would die.

"Lead on boys," he said, a touch of laughter in his voice.  Laughter that did not touch his eyes.  "Lead on."

Jarron al'Tanin

The Dragon Reborn

~~~

Brent Enios paced in his office, outrage making it almost impossible for him to maintain the void.  Saidin pulsed beckoningly just out of sight, but he ignored it.  He might lash out and kill someone just for the sake of satisfaction.  "Covai no be having the position to defy me," he muttered to himself for the hundredth time.  "This do be MY Tower.  Burn him to bloody ash!"

The door to his study suddenly banged open, and he whirled about snarling, ready to start yelling for whatever reason.  He didn't have a chance to though.  A young man with the silver Dedicated pin stumbled in, panting as though he had been running.  "M'Hael, Storm Leader Covai has returned and-"

"I do no want to be hearing anything about the bloody man!" roared Brent.  "Unless you be here to tell me he be dead, I want you to-"

"But sir, the Lord Dragon is with him!"

Words died in his throat at hearing that, but his blood began to boil.  Brent simply stared at the uncomfortable looking Dedicated for a moment.  Fighting to not explode in anger again he spoke quietly.  "Very well.  Go tell the Storm Leaders to gather in the council room.  If you be seeing any of the Attack Leaders, tell them as well."

As the other man quickly fled the study, Brent turned around and slammed a fist on top of his desk.  The sturdy thing trembled and creaked under the weight of the blow.  "I swear, if do be costing me the Tower ..."  Well, there were things he could do to have his revenge.  Adjusting the collar of his coat, Brent hurried off to the council room.  The Black Tower belonged to HIM, and he intended to keep it that way.

Brent Enios

M'Hael

OOC:  Sorry this has taken so long to get started.  You can post your reactions to seeing the group arrive, and follow them in if you dare.  I wouldn't try to speak up or ask for an autograph though ...

Arath nodded as Kelitor managed to get out a few words.  "Yes, you can.  That flame was part of the test we use to see if a man can channel.  If the Asha'man hadn't felt anything in you, you wouldn't be here now."  He paused for a moment, seeing the big question in Kelitor's eyes.  "And 'here' is in Andor, just south of Caemlyn.

"So then.  A few things you will need to know.  First, listen to and obey anyone with these at their collar."  He tugged at the collar of his own coat, showing the silver sword and gold dragon pins.  "The sword indicates Dedicated rank, the dragon, Asha'man.  If you see anyone with these," he added, lifting up his arm to show the embroidery on his sleeves, "you had better hop if they even think toad.

"Also, you will be saddled with a lot of chores as a Soldier.  You will perform these duties almost exclusively with Saidin.  You had best learn to cook with it as well.  After tonight you won't get another hot meal until you can cook it with the one power."

Arath paused for a moment, pondering.  Most everything a man needed to know about the Black Tower needed to be experienced.  There was only so much that one could be prepared for verbally.  Rising from the desk and moving to a large closet on the opposite side of the room.  As he began to rummage through the hanging coats for a suitable looking one he asked, "Do you have any questions for me?  Now is the time to ask."

OOC:  Sorry about the delay.  Things just kept happening every time I tried to reply before.  :P

Arath disliked being in Brent's 'palace' to do his work.  It was far more comfortable in his own home.  But this office was 'more conveniently placed' he was told.  He'd fought hard to resist the urge to retort that distance was hardly an object for men who could Travel, but had managed to hold his tounge.  Brent was in a foul enough mood lately.

Perhaps this was for the better though, since the Asha'man who came back from recruiting parties were being especially rough on his door today.  For the fourth time that day his door sprang open seemingly of it's own accord and slammed into the wall.  He couldn't help but grimace, even though he had reinforced the door with a weave of earth and air.  He still half expected it to explode under the blow.  If it had been the door of his own home, heads would have been rolling.

As it was, Arath simply lounged at his desk with a bored expression on his face as the newest recruit was ushered in.  Usually Arath liked to try and guess the nationality of each recruit before they said anything, but the bells in this man's hair clearly marked him as Arafellan.  Stifling a sigh, Arath motioned to a stool in front of his desk.  "Take a seat," he said, glancing at the door to see if any more were following.

"I am Attack Leader Arath.  I'll be overseeing your training here at the Farm.  And you are...?"

Approved ... barely.  Watch your word count in your posts.

DM Handle: Kelitor

Email: kelitorvarashan[at]gmail.com

Character Count: 1, this is the first

Character Name: Kelitor Varashan

Age: 19

Place of Birth/Raising: Arafel

Physical Appearance: Kelitor is about 5'11" and marginally over 200 pounds, best described as husky. Burned hands, and muscular arms and shoulders mark him as a smith's apprentice, and he is built like a stone wall. He wears his hair in the traditional Arafellin braids with a few copper bells woven in and is a dark blond, the only feature inherited from his Andoran mother. He has dreamy eyes, being averse to nearly any form of work outside the forge. He is also left-handed, bearing the sword he received when he became a man of the Borderlands sheathed on his right hip.

History: Kelitor, known more commonly as Kel, was born and raised in a small village in the west of Arafel, to an Arafellin father and an Andoran merchant woman who never quite mustered the will to leave after meeting him. His bearing was difficult, and he nearly died after birth, and was very sickly for his first year. Despite that, after this, he flourished, growing quickly, although his lighter hair was a constant source of teasing for him, being the only color not of classic Arafellin extraction in his village other then his foreign mother. Perhaps because of this, Kelitor often preferred his own company, wandering the Black Hills to the south-west of the Village, exulting in the screaming winds that constantly blew there.

He grew more social upon adolescence, growing quickly both physically and socially.

He was apprenticed to the village smith at the same time his friends coined the nickname "Ox" for him in honor of the fact that despite being the most introverted of all the boys, and not really outgoing to wrestle the others often, he was still the strongest in sheer strength, and being too easy going to protests such a ridiculous nickname and was in fact secretly pleased and the nickname stuck with him throughout his youth. He still enjoyed his time alone in the Hills, but he was happier now, and when he was 16, received a traditional man's gift of bells to wear in his braids.

When he was 18, with his master's aid he forged the sword that all men in the Borderlands received to mark their passage into manhood. It was a difficult time for Kelitor, as he'd never dealt well with stress, and while most of his friends received their swords as gifts, since he was to be a smith, his master had proclaimed he would have a hand in the forging. It was a howling, stormy day out when Kelitor began the forging, the day he usually enjoyed, but today it felt like the wind blew through him, distracting him from the work on the sword, and the heat from the forge seemed to seep inside, so it was as if he wrestled winds of Fire and Ice while he should be focusing on the work. Naturally, he lost focus, and critically flawed the blade during the tempering. Panicking over such a monumental error over his man's sword, Kelitor forgot about his internal winds for a second, and in that second of utter horror, they blasted his mind into blackness. When Kelitor came to, the sword shone on the anvil, inexplicably flawless. Utterly flabbergasted, Kelitor ran his hand over the blade, unable to find the flaw which had caused him to panic so, and even his master said the King's own smiths couldn't have done better... Kelitor had his horrifying suspicions, he KNEW the sword had been critically flawed, but the sword was sturdy, and in none of his practice with his father did the sword show any weakness.

Kelitor's final confirmation came during a typical Trolloc raid from the Blight. This was Kelitor's first raid in which he was allowed in the front lines as a man. Up till now he had been sheltered somewhat by his elders, whetting his sword on the occasional wounded Trolloc that was allowed through the lines with his father standing by the ensure that he lived through each encounter. Now, a year later, at  nineteen, he was deemed competent and in no need of coddling. Unfortunately, he was no where near as competent yet as his elders, and this raid had a Fade leading it. The Fade correctly intuited that Kelitor was a mere novice; capable of fending off Trollocs with help, but nowhere near truly skilled. That would have been the end of Kelitor, except that in utter panic as a dead black blade floated towards his neck while he desperately tried to counter, the winds within rose. He screamed, and the wind within blew through his mouth, dicing the Fade, and a dozen Trollocs without warning. Kelitor collapsed in utter exhaustion, and couldn't be roused for three days.

Kelitor now knew for certain, there had been signs: His sword, an unnaturally good harvest, strong roaring winds on the Hills whenever he went up there, a sister recovering from a fever within two days, his sporadic production of metalwork that seemed to be be on par with what came out of the big cities, and his uncanny guesses about the weather. He could channel Saidin; had been for nearly two years. Knowing he couldn't go mad surrounded by those he loved, and hearing of the Dragon's amnesty, he bid farewell to those he loved, taking only his sword, a letter of introduction from his master, and the bells for his braids, he set out in search of the Black Tower.

CC'd by the BT

Arath liked at the pitiful pile of collapsed Kerris on his floor, wondering just what to do.  He had been doing this for some time now, and men always had different reactions when they learned about what they could do.  Some broke down into hysterical tears, others grew angry.  He had long since put a warding on his floor to protect it from the many who grew physically ill at the news.  But rarely did he have someone faint on him.

Tossing the coat onto his desk, he used air to lift the unconscious young man off the floor.  When he had been raised to his standing height, Arath quickly examined him.  He had large knot forming on his forehead where he had slammed it on the ground.  With a grimace, the Attack Leader put a hand on the boys head and wove healing.  He wasn't overly skilled at healing.  He had watched what the healers did, and it seemed like weaving a half dozen tapestries at once.  Blindfolded.  But he could deal with this.

As the weaves coursed through Kerris, the red bump on his head faded away, along with all the other scrapes and bruises he had acquired in his journey.  The blast of cold sensation also ripped him from unconsciousness with a gasp.  Arath released his weave of air and let the boy settle onto his own feet.  "I told you, it's best to come to terms with we can do early on.  Get all your fainting over and done with now, before we start training you.  If it happens when you are actually channeling, you'll most likely die.  Or burn yourself out.

"But that isn't a good thing to dwell on, so lets move along."  He grabbed the coat off of his desk and tossed it to Kerris.  "This one should do for now.  You'll get another as soon as we can manage.  So then.  Do you have any question for me?  Now is the time to ask.  Free time will be hard to come by in the next several weeks."

Just wanted to add a little something here concerning the way the last part of this ended.  Everyone seemed to write how surprised they were that Jarron opened a gateway into blackness.  Skimming is a well known weave among the Asha'man.  Travel from places that you know well, Skim from places that you don't.  Or skim if you want to give yourself time to think, which is the case this time.

In other words, no need to be awestruck about skimming.  Unless you're character genuinely has never seen it before.

OOC: Laugh lines?  Arath's only 20 ...

IC:  "You are at the Black Tower, the Tower pledged to the Dragon Reborn.  As to actual location, we're a little south west of Caemlyn.

"What you do now ... that's a little more complicated.  Certainly different than anything you've ever done before.  You've been tested, and are able to channel Saidin.  It's best to come to terms with that as soon as you can, since what we're going to do is train that ability.  Think of yourself as a soldier with a very ... unique set of skills."  Arath grinned.  "By the end of the week you'll be worth more than any one of the Queen's Guard.  Light, by the time we're done with you you'll be worth a hundred of them.  A thousand."

Quickly scribbling Kerris' name into the log book, Arath moved over to the closet against his far wall and began rummaging for a suitable black coat for the new soldier.  "So, Kerris, how did you end up here?  I don't believe we've sent a recruiting party to New Braem recently."

At the beta form of DM 8.0!  It's a bit ... different.  Hopefully it will work out okay.

Arath sat behind his desk, which was for once devoid of paperwork of any kind.  Instead, a wide variety of jewelcrafting tools lay scattered across the surface along with a half dozen projects in various states of completion.  He was determined to get these finished today, without using the power.  It certainly was faster to use Saidin, but it somehow felt like cheating.  Not to mention the ... unpredictable results which had occured the last time.

He had just finished an intricate silver wire ring when there was a tap at his door.  With a sigh, he cleared off the space of desk just in front of him with a sweep of his arm and, using Saidin, pulled the door open.  The young man on the other side wore no black coat, marking him as a new recruit.  The fact that he was missing a limb before any part of his training was a little odd, but Arath glossed over it without much thought.  Muscles would only get you so far at the Farm anyway.  He looked uneasy about the door opening itself, quickly glancing behind it for an unseen person as he came inside.  Arath motioned to the stool in front of his desk. 

"Have you already been tested?"  When the youth hesitated Arath channeled a small flame above his outstetched hand.  When the recruit quickly nodded, Arath released the flame and pulled out his book of names.  "Very well then.  I am Attack Leader Faringal.  I'm in charge of the new recruits here.  What's your name?  And where are you from?"

Name: Linten al'Dracain 

Email: tismeb4u@gmail.com 

Linten is a quiet, some would say shy, young man of 22 years. He is 5'6" and weighs 155lbs with shoulder length light brown hair and green eyes that seem to carry a child like innocence to them. 

Linten was born on his family farm, in a distant corner of Andor, to Etom and Helain al'Dracain. He never got to know his mother Helain as she died giving birth to him. Etom raised Linten alone and often told him stories of his mother and their life together. Linten grew up learning about farming and hunting. Etom would often take him out when he was young and teach him to track and trap. Linten took to the lessons his da taught him and seemed to have a gift for tracking that soon surpassed his father. 

Linten seemed to have a simple and secure life on the farm. He worked the fields with his da and tended the livestock. Free time was almost always spent in the forest tracking anything he came across and dreaming of adventure and travel. But all that changed in the blink of an eye when Linten's world crumbled before his eyes. All Linten can remember about the actual attack that night is blurred and comes in broken pieces. 

After searching frantically amongst the smoke and ruins that had once been his home. He found his father's body slumped over a watering trough, 3 arrow shafts sticking up from his back. As he collapsed to his knees in grief his mind flashed to the scene of a desperate fight for life …. Linten screamed for Etom as he watched the 2 arrows materialize in the back of his father. Linten could not believe this was happening … it had to be a bad dream he desperately wanted to wake from. As Etom fell, Linten cried out a curse to the shadowy figures they fought, willing with all his might to destroy them entirely ….. then everything went dark. 

The memory left him shaking and suddenly aware for the first time of a presence, not a person, but something. It seemed just out of sight, like something seen from the corner of the eye but when you turn nothing is there. It was then that Linten, with his family farm in ruins and nothing left to keep him, decided he would travel to Baerlon, the nearest large city to find answers. 

It was in Baerlon amongst the various Inns that he began to piece together what was going on. Through various stories and rumors he put together a picture of the present time. Wars raging across much of the world, the Dragon had been reborn, men who could wield Saidin gathered at a place called the Black Tower and where sworn to the Dragon. 

However much he disliked the idea, it seemed the only safe choice. These men at the Black Tower, they might be able to explain this presence he felt but could never see. They had to be the safer choice …. If they had not become mad by the time he found them. He set off for a place he knew not, to a fate he wished not. 

Could it really be Saidin??? …. The thought made him shudder 

**** UPDATED INFO BEGINS ****

Linten has found a great change in himself since his time at the Farm. He has added weight in the form of muscle, hardened under the strict training of his Boarderlander mentor Isha. His eyes have lost their child like innocences as has his face lost it's gentle easy natured lines. But most of this is not a result of his training at the Farm. It does have to do with his knowledge of who he is now and the choices others have made because of it.

Early on Linten had still believed that the combination of strong trained channeling men linked with skillful channeling women would be what the Dragon would need in the end it they were to survive the final Great Battle. The change started slowly as he continued to hear the stories of the Red hunting those like himself. Stories that put a quiet fear in Linten and started him second guessing. That second guessing lead him to an altercation with Rion and set his feet to a harder, darker path. A path solidified at the hands of his mentor's mistake.

Isha notice that he was losing a special part of his mentee. In a miscalculated attempt to push him back to the light and the Dragon's own belief in the Aes Sedai. He broke completely Linten's trust in them and anyone he did not have a form of control over. The trip to the Borderland's was suppose to scare Linten back to the way he was when he arrived. Instead the conversation left them at odds and in the end Linten was abandoned to his own vices on the edge of the Blight. Through only the wheels turning and the creator not being done with his thread yet did he survive the ordeal.

Bitter and enraged at the horrors he faced and the man he had trusted who had turned his back on him. Linten, engravened with bitterness without a true outlet began the long journey back to the yard. It was during that journey that Linten came to hate Aes Sedai; most pointedly the Red. Though he could never be sure what color the sisters he came across where from. He knew what it meant to his life if they were to have captured him. Most times he was able to avoid contact with them and be gone before the words of unusual behavior could be spread to them. But on a couple occasions he was not so lucky and only barely escaped with his life and a silent vow that he would train them one by one to what their true place in this age was. Channeling slaves to the Dragon and the men of the Black cloth. 

On his return Linten kept a low profile and returned to his studies. His mentor had recognized that something had changed in his mentee but could not quite place it. By the time Isha figured out that change, it was too late. Linten had begun quietly to turn the minds and the attitudes of some of the men of the Farm. Dedicated, soldier, trainee, slowly his sphere of influence grew and in the process he partnered with several men to arrange for a leadership change.

Linten was shrewed in his thoughts and hungry in his desire for power. But shrewdness over powered desire when the time came for the change. Preferring the shadows where he was most comfortable in controlling the world around him he allowed Brent in the end to step forward to take that role. But Brent turned out to be softer then he had hoped when it came to the witches and stronger of will when it came to Linten's persuasion.  The differences manifesting themselves in full during the capture of an Aes Sedai raiding party. 

It was those differences and the resulting suffering he quietly inflicted on the Aes Sedai held at the Farm that finally set the rift between them. After being raised to Asha'man rank after a brutal fight between Linten and his mentor to earn the rank. Brent wasted no time using his power as Commander to assign Linten to a menial task away from the Farm and keep him away from the men that continued to arrive. Over time even with Linten's built up connections he began to lose contact with the quiet divisive group he had been building at the Farm until finally, with all communication to his group lost, Linten received a summons back to the Farm.

**** UPDATE INFO ENDS ****

Jethro “Isha” Talcontar

Baijan’m’hael of the Black Tower

Stats

One Power:

Air 6

Water 2

Spirit 8

Fire 10

Earth 3

Skill 28

Potency 57

WS: 5 (was 9); before recent events had more-or-less crippled Isha, he was in peak physical condition and handy with both broadsword and two-handed longsword.  Now that he is crippled, his range of motion and strength are limited.

Physical Description

Nationality: Sheinaran from his mother’s side, Domani and Malkieri from his father’s

Age: 32

Death: 999NE

Height: 6'11"

Weight: 260lbs; lost roughly 20lbs after being crippled.

Hair: Shaved bald except for Shienaran warrior’s topknot.

Eyes: Hazel

Skin Tone: Darker than the average Shienaran.

Notable Scars: Faded scar turning left corner of mouth into a sneer, running to left eye; faded scar half-hidden by topknot clipping the tip of right ear; fresh scars criss-crossing first across gouged-out left eye; other fresh claw marks concentrated on his lower back and thighs, ruining the muscles in his legs; numerous other faded war wounds.

Other: Tattoo of a gauntleted hand crushing a severed trolloc’s head covering his back.

Personality

:::Growing up in the Borderlands, duty, honour, and family are everything to Isha.  He holds those he respects up on pedestals and can be heartbroken when they don’t live up to his standards.  He is, however, incredibly protective of those he cares about and will often ignore their flaws.  An armyman, he considers emotions as weaknesses, performing every task with dedication – almost mechanically so.

:::Abrem Allain Tallandor was one of Lew Therin’s One Hundred Companions and was among the first to be driven mad, warring with his sons who had also been driven insane.  Before the War of Power, he was a musician.

Family

Mother: Lady Gwenyth Jagad-Talcontar (947-967NE); Shienaran.  The sister of Agelmar Jagad.  She died in childbirth.

Father: General Faerthines Talcontar (945-984NE); ½Domani, ½Malkieri.  Supposedly a Domani mercenary before coming to Far Dara, he gave no explanation for his Malkieri last name.  Killed in an attack by Shadowspan.

Uncle: Lord Agelmar Jagad (  -  ); Shienaran.  Lord of Fal Dara.

Bonds

999NE: Eqwina al’Caupthn Sedai (circa850NE-  ); Altaran.  Yellow Aes Sedai Bonded during the Watchers incident, Bond was annulled after the Sisters’ release.

Other Affiliations

House Jagad: Agelmar Jagad (  -  ); Fal Dara, Shienar.  Nephew to the current Lord of Fal Dara.  He served as an officer in the army there before joining the Black Tower.

History

Birth (964-967NE)

:::Faerthines Talcontar arrived at Fal Dara in 964NE, asking to join the Fal Daran army.  The young man claimed he was a mercenary from Arad Doman whose company had recently been disbanded; he was asked about his Malkieri last name but provided no explanation.  The officers were impressed with his weapons skills and knowledge of tactics – again, no explanation was given for his education.  Faerthines was quickly promoted.  The enigma eventually caught the eye of the daughter of then-Lord Jagad, Gwenyth, they were married months later.  A year passed and Gwynth died giving birth to their son whom Faerthines named Jethro.

Childhood (968-982NE)

:::Faerthines was a distant father and, for the most part, left his son to be raised with his brother-in-law’s children.  Jethro idolised his father who eventually became the general of the Fal Daran army.  When the boy hit puberty, he grew – in both height and weight.

Army (983-996NE)

:::Following in his father’s footsteps, Jethro joined the army at the age of sixteen.  His monstrous size made him an incredible foot soldier; he was expected to become as accomplished a warrior as his father when Faerthines was killed during an attack on Tarwin’s Gap.  Jethro had stumbled in the snow a few paces from his father while facing a Myrdraal and Faerthines rushed to his son’s aid barely in time to save his son from the Fade.  The general stood over the boy’s body, fighting back Shadowspan until he was killed, shielding Jethro’s unconscious body from further attack.

:::Jethro awoke a week later in a field hospital, his face and body badly scarred.  He took the name “Isha”, betrayer in the Old Tongue, for causing his father’s death.  The boy’s supposed-to-be illustrious career was stunted by the rage he carried around with him, he was a formidable soldier (he now stood well-over six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds) but a poor officer as he cared more about exacting his revenge on Shadowspan than directing troops under his command.  He took the gauntleted fist crushing a severed Trolloc’s head as his personal emblem, having it engraved into the pommel of his swords and tattooed across his back.

The Black Tower (997-998NE)

:::Isha spent over a decade in the army before running into a recruiting party from the Black Tower.  Saidin offered him a chance to exact a greater revenge upon the Shadow – he tested positive for the ability.

:::As a soldier, he was trained by Vaerraent who became a victim of the Taint and disappeared weeks before Isha was raised to Dedicated.  His training was then given to Dashiva Somtaaw, another Sheinaran veteran.  The close relationship between Dashiva and he provided a template for the relationship he would have with his first mentee: Linten al’Dracain.

:::However, Linten fell in with Onyx Drakor who was known for his dark streak.  Considering the age difference between them, Isha felt paternal towards the boy and was troubled the sudden swing in Linten’s moods.  One night, the boy picked a fight with another Soldier, Rion Anglemar, drawing his sword and threatening to kill the other boy.  At a loss for what to do with his mentee, Isha took Linten to his father’s grave and gave him an ultimatum: return with him to the Black Tower or stay in Shienar.  Isha returned to the Farm alone.

:::Weeks later he was promoted to Asha’man.  His failure with Linten left him distant from the friends he once had and Isha threw himself into his work, especially physical training – over compensation from his lack of strength in the One Power.  With his military background and noble education, he became an Attack Leader.  Shortly after his promotion, a Voice appeared in his head; it would comment or share a glimpse of a memory before retreating.

Aginor (Early 999NE)

:::Following the suspicious death of a Soldier, Isha stumbled onto the faction of the Black Tower sworn to the Shadow: the Shadar alantin (Shadow Brothers).  They were, at the time, being organised by the Forsaken Aginor who had infiltrated the Farm.  After being forced to torture another Asha’man, the Voice began holding entire conversations with him.  Not realising he was facing one of the Forsaken, Isha led an attack on a meeting of the Shadow Brothers, instead falling into an ambush.  Nearly all the attackers were massacred while most of the present darkfriends escaped, identities still concealed.  Isha, however, was captured by Aginor.

:::For a week, Aginor used Isha to test his experiments.  The Forsaken tested how much shock the human body could endure when dropped into a vat of hot water following hypothermic conditions.  His limbs were broken, dislocated, and stretched until they were nearly ripped from his body.  Aginor explored the workings of the human muscle system, carefully stripping back portions of the skin to reveal muscles beneath while the subject was forced to flex the muscles.  Isha was brought to the point of death and shock time and again to be Healed and subjected to more tests.  The Voice, who revealed himself to be Abrem Allain Tallandor, was a constant companion through this.

:::During the limited amount of sleep he managed, Isha’s sleeping brain had brought him in and out of tel’aran’rhiod for brief spells, eventually leading the Dreamwalker Covai to his location.  Aginor was in the process of attempting to breed a male channeller with a female trolloc, to see if he could breed the ability to channel into his creations, when a rescue party from the Black Tower arrived.  During the struggle, Aginor was killed and they found Isha on the brink of death, mauled by the trolloc.  Weak as he was, they could not Heal all of his external injuries.  Isha lost his left eye and a great deal of function his lower body.

Watchers (Late 999NE)

:::During a recruiting mission after his recovery, Isha happened across Linten.  The boy had changed, the dark streak in him far stronger, but Isha felt guilty for abandoning and failing him and so Linten returned to the Black Tower.  The paternal instincts returned and Isha was incredibly protective of his prodigal son despite dark rumours.

:::The rumours became worse after they Bonded Aes Sedai in the Watchers battle.  Isha Bonded Yellow Sister Eqwina al’Caupthn and, while wary of each other, the two got along as best they could under the circumstances.  Linten, however, had Bonded a Red Sister Faile al’Rahien.  Isha was aware his mentee was tormenting the Aes Sedai, but refused to believe the rumours saying he was raping and physically torturing her and other Sisters.  With Linten’s return, Abrem’s will had become stronger while Isha’s had grown weak – at one point, Abrem actually took over their body and tried to kill Linten during a training exercise.  Another Voice had begun to form as well, this one far angrier and more violent than Abrem.

:::One night, Isha found Ged Maevere, an Asha’man, struggling with Linten.  Realising the other Asha’man was trying to kill his “son”, Isha snapped and let the new Voice take control of the body, beating Ged bloody and cutting off the hand that had tried to murder Linten.  Meanwhile, Linten had Severed the Asha’man.  Rumours flew about the suddenly missing Asha’man and his Aes Sedai, a Blue Sister, but the new M’Hael, Brent Enios, was unable to prove anything.  Isha was now truly beginning to lose touch with reality; he would lose control of his body to Abrem for hours at a time.  Both personalities struggled to keep control of the body from the new Voice, whom they called Dog because of its primal impulses.

:::Following the release of his Bond to Eqwina, a fourth Voice appeared.

Handle: claireducky

# of characters in this Div: this is #1

Character Name: Kerris Asech

Age: 16

Origin: New Braem in Andor

Appearance:  reddish brown hair, serious grey eyes.  He has a frown line between his eyes that frequently appears when he is deep in thought, which is often.  Tall and lithe frame, wiry muscling that belies great strength, especially in his intact left arm.  Right arm ends in a smooth stump a few inches above the elbow.

Personality: quiet and introspective, he watches everything around him.  He is a great observer of the interactions and small things that happen between people.  This is a self-preservation mechanism, as it serves to let him know when he would be best off somewhere else.  He is a loner and is afraid to let people get too close to him, lest he lose them too.  He is confused about his true identity; he has never lain with anyone and is convinced that he loved Tyr, a childhood friend.  It will take much soul searching for him to figure out this part of himself and where his interests truly lie.

Character history:

“Hey, Tyr!  Wait for me!”  Kerris’ bare feet slapped the earth as he ran through the woods.  Sunlight, filtered green by the lush foliage above his head, dappled his skin and hair.  It was high summer in Andor, Kerris was eight years old today, and he was having the time of his life.  His fists pumped furiously at his sides as he fought to catch up with his best friend.  Tyr was almost twelve, and more solidly built compared to Kerris’ lithe frame.  The combination of age, advanced knowledge of the world, and size made him almost a God in Kerris’ eyes. 

Finally, Kerris caught up to the older boy.  He was standing by a large oak, peering up into its boughs.  Kerris caught his breath from the hard run while watching Tyr study the tree.  After a time, Tyr nodded to himself, then flashed Kerris a reassuring grin.  “This tree’ll do, Ker.  Don’t you worry now, I told you that I would take you on your nameday to swing, and swing we will.  See that bit of creeper?”  Kerris looked above him where Tyr was pointing, and wanted to swallow hard against the sudden fear that crept up in him.  The vine that Tyr was indicating was at a dizzying height above the ground.  However, Kerris was not going to back out now.  He was no longer a child, and he had been begging Tyr to take him along to do this for ages.

He carefully scrambled up the tree from branch to branch.  Tyr helped pull him to a large limb that easily held both of them.  Kerris looked uneasily at the ground some thirty feet below.  A wave of vertigo washed over him and he felt Tyr’s strong arm shoot out to catch his shoulder and steady him.  “None of that, now.  Try to not look at the ground, Ker.  I promised yer da’ that I wouldn’t let no harm come to you, so that means you need to listen to me and do as I tell you.  Got it?”  Kerris forced himself not to look at the ground and nodded.  “Good, now watch what I do.  I don’t feel like climbing back up this tree again so ye’ll only see it the once.”

Tyr let go of Kerris and moved out along the branch to where the strand of creeper hung close by.  Kerris clung tight as he straddled the limb and watched.  Tyr reached out with his left arm and caught hold of the vine.  “Now Kerris, you need to pull up some of the slack before you swing, else you’ll never be able to get down from such a height on the vine.  But don’t get too much slack, mind, or the jerk you’ll get when you push off might shake you loose and make you fall.  Pull up about 3 spans, no more.”  Tyr held the vine in his hands.  He adjusted his grip and swung a leg over the limb so that he was sitting with both legs dangling into thin air.  Tyr flashed Kerris that grin again, then suddenly straightened his body, letting himself slide off the edge of the branch.  “I’m King of the World!” He shouted as he swung forward while clinging to the vine with hands and legs. 

It looked amazingly fun-- swinging through the air, weightless, letting the vine carry you forward and back until the momentum was spent.  Tyr had come to a standstill finally on the vine, and shimmied down the last ten feet or so of the creeper til he was standing.  He called up to Kerris, “Ok, your turn now!”  Kerris smiled and nodded uncertainly, then scooted out along the branch til he was at the same spot Tyr had been.  Kerris reached out and grabbed the creeper, bringing up a couple of spans of slack.  He took hold of the vine and wrapped it around his wrist and upper arm a couple of times; he didn’t have the confidence in his grip that Tyr did.  Finally, Kerris swung his leg over the tree branch so he was no longer straddling it.  “Go on, then!” Tyr called out from below him. 

Kerris took a deep breath and yelled, “I’m King of the World!” He slid forward and off the branch.  He felt an instant of joy and exhilaration, and then it all went wrong.  Kerris felt an immense wrench as he reached the end of the slack in the vine; his legs and left arm slipped away from the vine like they were greased.  His right arm protested under the strain as the momentum propelled him forward with the vine.  When he reached the end of the upswing, his hand could take no more; he lost his grip and went sliding down the vine.  The lengths wrapped around his arm cut into him, the vine burning and chewing his flesh relentlessly.  Down he plummeted, along twenty feet of creeper.  From somewhere, far away, he thought he heard someone screaming.  It sounded strangely like his own voice.

He woke briefly; dappled sunlight shone down on his face.  Tyr was at his side, doing something to his right arm.  “What are you doing, Tyr?”  Tyr turned those beautiful blue-green eyes on him and Kerris was startled to see fear in them. Tyr was never scared.  “Keep quiet Kerris, I’ve got to bind your arm, it’s bleeding.”  Kerris nodded sleepily and asked, “You won’t leave me, Tyr?”  Tyr kept working furiously, getting the tourniquet in place.  “Of course not, silly.  I promised yer da’, remember?  Promised him I would take care of you, and so I will.”

Kerris felt himself being lifted by Tyr’s strong arms and the motion of the older boy’s running lulled him to sleep.  Tyr would take care of him; it would all be right as rainwater soon.

~~

Kerris lost his arm that day.  The vine had shredded his flesh and cut down to the bone in the middle of his right bicep.  From that point down, the arm was a ruin.  The village Wise Woman managed to keep him alive long enough for an Aes Sedai to be brought up from Caemlyn.  The Sedai saved his life, but the right arm was gone from a few inches above his elbow.

Kerris and Tyr remained closer than ever, and four years later Tyr left New Braem to join the Queen’s Guard in Caemlyn.  Kerris was only twelve, and he begged for Tyr to let him come with him.  “Sorry, Kerris.  This is one place I can’t take you with me.”  When word came several months later that Tyr had died in a crossbow training accident, Kerris was heartbroken.  He had worshipped Tyr, loved him fiercely.  He had lost his best friend. 

The best efforts of Kerris’ parents and friends could not keep him from spiraling into depression.  He couldn’t stand the sight of them, of the woods, of the old haunts he and Tyr had frequented.  Kerris thought of leaving to join the Queen’s  Guard himself, but they wouldn’t take one disabled as he is.  The same was true of the Warders up in Tar Valon.  Kerris felt worthless.  He took up the practice of throwing knives with his left hand; it gave him a skill to pass the time.  At the age of sixteen, he heard of the Dragon Reborn’s amnesty.  Not able to take it anymore, he bid farewell to his parents and headed south to Caemlyn to enroll in the Lord Dragon’s lists.

Hmmm ... I might have an offer for Linten with a slightly higher probability of survival.

We need someone to explore and map out a one hundred mile radius around Shayol Ghul.  You go armed with a toothpick and a gerbil.

Have fun!

Bonds are going to be held both ways.  Though I suppose for the sake of poetic justice Linten should be the one being bonded ... :)

Bonds are BT/Red Ajah (player/player), and yes at the Dragon's order.  Which comes by our suggestion.

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,35110.0.html

This is the RP that leads in to the bonding.  Major defeat for us :(